


Lahu Munh Lag Gaya

by shakespeareishq



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareishq/pseuds/shakespeareishq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two AUs both alike in dignity, in fair Beacon Hills where we lay our scene...</p>
<p>Or, the one where Peter Hale is both the owner of a coffee shop AND a serial killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a song of the same name, which roughly translates to 'I've tasted blood on my lips', with blood sort of metaphorically referring to love. It is my ultimate steter song <3
> 
> This is in no way related to my OTHER serial killer AU I'm writing. This one is fluffy :D

Stiles spends two months intensely flirting with Peter Hale, owner of The Slice of Life, aka the single best coffee shop on the west coast, before they finally manage to get their shit together and land in bed.

The sex is the kind of magical experience only a long courtship can provide. First it’s fast and messy and Stiles is shocked they managed to make it to the bed at all. Then it’s slow and passionate and tinged with just the right amount of gooey warm feelings, Peter holding Stiles’ gaze and whispering how much he’d wanted this, how gorgeous Stiles looked under him. The dinner Peter had started cooking them burns horribly while they’re in the bedroom so Peter orders pizza and they laze in bed eating and talking until they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Stiles wakes up around 3am desperately needing something to drink.

He stumbles into the kitchen, and is opening the freezer to retrieve ice cubes to put in his glass of water when he comes across the whole human head. It’s nestled amongst various other foil-wrapped packages Stiles can only assume are other bits of human.

Stiles, understandably, snatches his hand out of the freezer, and when he turns Peter is there in a rush, forcing Stiles back against the fridge, a butcher knife pressed to his jugular. Stiles feels the single drop of blood roll down his neck and looks dead into Peter’s eyes.

“I’m going to be sorry when you’re dead you know. I liked you Stiles.”

“Well come and cry on my deathbed when I’m 90 then.”

Peter…looks puzzled. He moves the knife just enough so it’s no longer touching Stiles.

“Stiles,” Peter begins, like he’s explaining something to a small child, “you can’t leave here alive. Not knowing what you know.”

“Why not.”

“Why not?”

“You heard me. Why can’t I go to school in five hours, stop over at The Slice around three for my usual insane dose of caffeine, make cow eyes at you until closing and then go back to yours and have amazing sex? That’s what I was gonna do originally.”

“How do I know you aren’t going to go to the police?”

“Peter Hale you make the best damn cup of coffee I have ever experienced in my short life. If you think I’m giving that up and letting you waste your talent rotting in a cell just because you have weird hobbies, then you have severely miscalculated my friend.”

“Weird hobbies? Stiles I kill people. I kill people and stuff them in my freezer. I think we’ve moved beyond hobbies.”

Stiles gives this a hand wave. “Semantics are not my forte. Besides, are you gonna kill Scott? Or Lydia? Or my dad?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not my problem. So can we just go back to bed? You have to be up in two hours or else no one gets cinnamon rolls and that really  _would_ be a crime. Oh and ‘the slice of life?’ I think you’re  _asking_ to get caught with that one.” Peter lowers the knife then, letting it clatter to the floor like he forgot he was holding it, and Stiles gives an exaggerated sigh. “Why I fell for a guy with a sense of humor as shitty as yours I am never gonna figure out.”

A grin spreads itself across Peter’s face. He looks delighted, and a little awed.

Stiles grins shyly in return.

Then Peter is taking Stiles back to bed, stopping twice in the hallway to kiss him slow and deep.

Things work out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote serial killer fluffy baking fic.

“So how often do you do it?” Stiles asks over midnight scones in Peter’s kitchen. Peter had wanted to try a new recipe and Stiles was playing happy guinea pig. It’s three weeks after their eventful first night as an official couple, and this is the first time Stiles has brought up that particular topic since then, so it’s perhaps natural that Peter at first doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“It?”

“Kill people and stuff them in your freezer.”

Peter doesn’t seem to know what to say for a long moment. “I’m genuinely unnerved at how well you seem to be taking this.”

“Dude  _you’re_ the one who is a serial murderer not me. So how often? Or, how many people have you killed in total? When did you start killing people? Did you do that whole arson, animal cruelty, and bedwetting thing? Did—”

Peter covers Stiles’ mouth with his hand.

“To answer one at a time: it depends, 66, when I was sixteen, and since you’ll recall that my family burned to death in a fire, arson has therefore never been a particular favorite.”

“Sixty-six?  _Damn_.”

“I’ve been working over two decades, so that only averages about three a year.”

“Working? Nice euphemism.”

“Hmm. I try. Here eat this one.” He holds out a scone.

Stiles chews thoughtfully. “The glaze is a little too sweet for my tastes, and I say that as the certified sugar addict you know I am.”

“Damn. I’d thought that one was going to be it.”

“Just fix the glaze and you’re there. So like,  _why?_ ”

“I should’ve measured the confectioner’s sugar by weight instead of volume. The latter method is an inaccurate science at best and a disaster at worst, but I was in a hurry.”

“No I mean why have you spent the last twenty-plus years killing and freezer-stuffing people?”

“I only keep them in the freezer until I find time to properly dump them in the lake. The cold slows decomposition so they won’t stink up the house.”

Stiles balks. “Tell me you don’t mean Lake Beacon. Me and Scotty still go swimming down there and now when we do I’m only gonna be able to think of ooky dead people particles in the water. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Have you ever known power, Stiles?”

“I know it comes with great responsibility.”

“The feeling of a life slipping from your hands, having that kind of control over life and death, it’s the kind of rush no drug could ever recreate. I doubt I could accurately describe it.”

“Try? For me?” Stiles gives him his best puppy eyes, but Peter doesn’t meet his gaze. It’s like he’s become lost in his memories.

“The first time was a complete accident. I was attacked in the woods behind our house. He pulled a knife but in the struggle it ended up in my hands. It was in his throat before I understood what I had done. It’s the first time in my life I ever remember feeling  _alive_. I knew right away that I wanted to feel that again. I  _needed_ to feel that again. I never questioned the morality behind it, or what others would think if they knew. I just knew I couldn’t let myself get caught because then I wouldn’t be allowed to do it anymore.”

“How…how do I make you feel?” Stiles didn’t mean that to come out so vulnerable-sounding.

Then Peter does look at him, and whatever he sees in Stiles’ expression makes him walk around the island to pull Stiles into a flour-coated hug.

“Sometimes you make me feel like a dirty old man,” he teases. Stiles huffs into his chest. More seriously he continues, “I feel like with you I’ve been granted something precious, something to keep close and cherish. I feel like you have the potential to understand me in a way no one else has, and I’m excited by that. I find myself wondering what things will be like for us five or ten years in the future. You stimulate my mind, and keep me on edge. You can keep up with my banter, and soothe my temper, and Derek and Cora love you, you know that.”

Stiles grants him a soft kiss. “You love me too,” he says, biting his lip and looking away.

“That I do.” Peter lightly smacks his ass. “Time for you to go to bed. You have your 8am in the morning. I’m going to finish up out here.”

“Are you going to go out and kill someone now?”

“No Stiles.”

“Would you tell me if you were?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I think I do. Yes. Tell me.”

“Next time it comes up I’ll let you know, now go on I won’t be long.”

Stiles yawns and disappears down the hall. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise?

A local girl—Kira, Scott’s girlfriend—disappears suddenly.

They find her six days later. Apparently the stress of midterms had caused her to check into a psych hospital out of town without telling anyone. She’s fine, better even, now that she has the medication she needs to help her.

Stiles, in those six days, loses his damn mind.

“Peter tell me you didn’t kill her.”

“Allow me to repeat myself. Again. I didn’t touch your friend Stiles.”

“Yeah but how do I know that? Do I need to remind you that you are over halfway to a body count in the triple digits? She could be in the freezer _right now_.”

“I invite you to check the freezer and see that it is barren.”

“But you could have another freezer!”

“I invite you to re-check the entire house for the existence of a second freezer. Like you did yesterday.”

“I’m sorry Peter. But I mean can you really blame me?”

“Let me think about it…yes. Yes I can blame you Stiles. This relationship has to work on a certain level of trust. One that you seem unwilling to show me.”

“It’s just that it’s Kira! You promised you wouldn’t go after my friends and now she’s gone and I don’t know what to think.”

“Think that, wherever she is, she’s safe. Or at least that she will be safe _soon_. Think that once she turns up you and her and Scott are going to all come and sit in the corner booth like you always do, and you’re going to eat Derek’s muffins and do your homework and everything will be ok.”

Peter pauses.

“Or if it turns out that she isn’t safe…think that once her killer is found rest assured I will not make his life easy. What life he has left.”

Stiles gives him a look. “Peter that is so sweet. Are you kidding?”

“No Stiles.”

 “You’d seriously do that for me?”

“Stiles I would raze the earth for you.”

Stiles looks embarrassed. “Sorry I’m being an ass about this.”

“You love your friends. It’s natural to be worried.”

“Yeah but I didn’t have to jump to conclusions. Thank you for putting up with my shit. Course if I find out it _was_ you no power in this universe is going to be able to save you, you know that right?”

“I expect nothing less.”

“Ok.” Stiles breathes. “Ok then. We’re, you know, still good right?”

“We’re good.”

“Peter kiss me. Distract me or something, I’m gonna go crazy until they find her.”

“How about I make you some chamomile and then we get in the bath? Or I could give you a backrub.”

Stiles looks up at Peter through his eyelashes. “You could maybe give me a bath and _then_ a backrub?”

Peter chuckles and acquiesces. “Alright then, come on.” He turns to go to the kitchen and get the teapot, but in the doorway he looks back. “They’re going to find her Stiles. Trust your father, he does good work.”

“They never find the people you kill.”

Mischief glints in Peter’s eyes. “That’s because I do better work.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles take a step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some blood and gore in this chapter, but nothing like in my other fic if you read that. Think of that Peter more like Hannibal and this Peter more like Dexter. He's a very neat monster.

It’s four months before Peter feels the urge again. As promised, he tells Stiles of his planned excursion two days beforehand.

“Let me watch.”

“You want to—really Stiles?”

“I think I do? Trust me if I wanna back out I’ll let you know.”

“If you come out with me, there won’t be a chance to back out after a certain point.”

“Oh ok. Right. Well I won’t wanna back out then.”

“Why do you want to watch?”

“Well you talk about it like it’s more satisfying than your caffe macchiato, which I think I actually orgasmed over that one time. Call me curious.” Stiles amends this statement. “Not like, curious enough to actually do the do, but definitely curious enough to be in the room, unless that would give you performance anxiety or something.”

“First of all how dare you. And second…alright.”

“Alright? You mean it?”

“Yes. But you’ll do exactly what I tell you without question, understood?”

“Totally understood.” They look at each other, and the moment is solemnized. “So hey, who’s the lucky person? Or well, not lucky.”

“I don’t know his name, and I don’t care to. He’s been coming to poetry night for the last three weeks smelling like weed and foulness and I find him offensive on almost every level.”

 “Oh is this that one guy? The dreads guy? Tell me it’s him. He needs to be stopped.”

“I believe I recall you saying something about there being better poetry on Vogon. I find myself inclined to agree.”

Stiles grins. “You’re such a nerd. It’s really attractive.”

“Not to mention I’m the best bang since the big one.”

“Oh my god Peter bend me over the sofa.”

Peter indulges him.

\--

Stiles hangs out in his usual spot in The Slice 48 hours later and tries to finish his English essay, downing Peter’s finest brew all the while, but he’s too excited. Peter switches him to hot chocolate after his fourth cup with the excuse that he’ll be awake all night otherwise.

(He will, but it won’t be because of the caffeine.)

Dreads shows up, orders his usual pretentious concoction, and goes to writing something in his moleskine. Peter quietly tells Stiles to stop staring.

After enough time has passed, and Derek and Cora have both left for the day, Peter calls out closing time. The last handful of stressed college students shuffle out, Dreads along with them.

They find Dreads, as Peter had expected, lighting up behind the dumpsters. He manages to get out a “Dude what—” before Peter slams his head against the brick and he’s unconscious. They take Peter’s car to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Peter tells Stiles he’s been coming here on and off for the last twelve years and no one’s suspected a thing yet.

Peter had done the prep work the day before. Sheets of thick plastic hang like ghosts in what was once someone’s office. They cover the worktable in the middle of the room, and Peter’s even managed to find a surgical utility table on which he places his array of gleaming blades. Everything is neat and clean and clinical. A perfect place to get messy.

Dreads gets stripped and rolled in enough saran wrap and duct tape to hold him down, and Peter waits for him to wake up before shoving a cloth in his mouth and taping over it to muffle the screaming.

Tears begin streaming down Dreads’ face. He looks to Stiles standing in the corner, a silent plea in his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t move to help.

Peter doesn’t waste time. After so many years of doing this he knows what he likes and he doesn’t feel the need to put on a show for Stiles’ benefit. A deadly strike straight through the chest and Dreads is no more. Blood wells up dark from the wound and spills down the edge of the table, running along the floor and stopping just before it touches Stiles’ shoes. Stiles’ eyes are wide but unafraid, simply trying to take everything in that he can. Peter looks so focused in the moment, so honed like the very knife he’s holding. He runs black leather gloves along Dreads’ face, then removes the gag and uses pliers to yank out a molar. This he places carefully in a small silver box before he lets out a relieved sigh and hunches over the table’s gory contents.

A long silence follows. Peter eventually snaps out of his trance and starts deciding which knife would be best to take the body’s head off.

Stiles goes so far as to help with the cleanup, Peter instructing him on how to get the plastic sheeting down without letting blood spill out onto the concrete. Peter does the actual dismembering and wrapping of the body himself though, and Stiles sees something oddly ritualistic in Peter’s careful movements, handling the dead flesh with something like reverence. The whole night leaves him feeling a bit like he’s walked into Peter’s confessional.

Once the entire macabre scene is reduced to so many black garbage bags, Peter turns to Stiles and looks at him for the first time since they’d entered the warehouse.

“Was it what you’d hoped?”

“You know, I don’t even know if I’d hoped it would be anything. Did I get what I came for? I’m not sure if I know what I came for. Do I wanna do it again? Yes absolutely.” Peter’s eyes go dark. Stiles’ answer must have pleased him.

“You looked like an artist, in a weird way. And this is gonna sound really fucked up, but I’m kind of horny now?”

Peter backs him up against the table where just minutes ago there had been a bloody corpse. “I think we can do something about that.” He looks positively wicked as he goes for Stiles’ fly. Stiles tries not to moan.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
